


Full Circle.

by jackmaybenimble



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-19
Updated: 2006-01-19
Packaged: 2020-11-28 09:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackmaybenimble/pseuds/jackmaybenimble
Summary: They know the game too well.





	Full Circle.

Their arguments usually involve something being smashed. An inanimate object caught up in their verbal crossfire; a coffee cup thrown into the sink in exasperation, a bottle caught by a hand thrown out to emphasise a point.

Their arguments are about politics. They always have been. Even though they are on the same side, they can find the crack in the other's opinion and then proceed to drive a tank through the gap.

Because he spends his days shaping words to fit someone else's voice, he has a tendency to let fly when he speaks for himself, his words erupting from someplace deep within, without the need for refinement. She matches him punch for punch, as she always has, her words flowing as effusively, tumbling over the top of his, then running underneath, set free from the confines of her office.

Because they are rooted in logic and problem solvers both, the argument finally comes full circle, completing its journey of apparent pointlessness, save to allow expression.

They will stop for a moment, electricity sparking in the air around them. He shrugs, and concedes that the person in question is a tool, or that the legislation is too much too soon.

He will step towards her, believing the crackle of static to be imagined in his head. He'll mock her then, for a cliche she used, or a weak turn of phrase, as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Having emptied themselves by their words, the need to fill necessitates their inevitable reactions, as she stops his mouth with her own, pushing his teasing words back into him with her tongue. As he quickly unbuttons her jeans he is grateful for the couple of inches height difference between them.

As she hitches up onto the counter, cold marble paling her skin and reddening her lips she is exactly his height and can look straight into his eyes for a second, before he makes her own eyes flicker shut. Her left arm is thrown out, reaching for something to hold onto, as he pushes into her.

If by chance they broke nothing in the argument, they do so in the reconciliation.


End file.
